


All We Are

by jumpfall



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team-as-family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpfall/pseuds/jumpfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want eyes on Spencer ten minutes ago!" Shawn thinks that maybe another hostage situation is just what they need to bring the team together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 2011/01/04 on livejournal.

Lassiter and O'Hara get to the amusement park in time to see the lead suspect in their double homicide fire two warning shots in the air. Lassiter loses sight of him in the crowd and starts whipping around in all directions frantically, desperately trying to pick up a visual again as the people in the vicinity scream and scatter, frightened by the gunshots.

Juliet hops onto the hood of one of the cruisers and starts instructing the crowd to move towards the exits. By the time someone finds her a bullhorn, it isn't needed. She's better at reassuring the public than he is, so he leaves her to direct traffic while he gets a handle on the situation. Miller is the closest patrolman he knows by name, so Lassiter calls him over. "Get the black-and-whites to set up a perimeter and a picture of Schmidt out to the patrolmen, comb through the crowd. Nobody leaves until you've taken their statement."

Schmidt had been considered armed and dangerous, so they have two police cruisers and one of the vans with them as backup. It's enough to contain the perimeter, but not enough to split their focus between that and searching the park, so Lassiter calls the situation into dispatch, requesting more backup and SWAT. He doesn't like relinquishing control of his operations to anybody, but they're going to need their help on this one. The remaining rays of the day's sunlight are fading fast, and this is going to be trickier and much more slow-going in the dark.

McNab approaches with a short, curly-haired woman in four-inch heels in tow that he introduces as one of the park's directors. "We need information on the layout of the park," he greets her with, in no mood to make pleasantries.

"I can do better than that," she replies, pulling a roll of papers out from underneath her arm that she spreads out to reveal blueprints. Lassiter positions them out on a nearby picnic table, each additional page revealing another area their suspect could be hiding. Between the six roller coasters and the two-dozen odd other attractions, they have a lot of nooks and crannies to cover. "We have security cameras scattered throughout the park as well," she offers, just as the scale of the operation is beginning to give Lassiter a headache.

That's something, at least. "McNab, get an officer down to check those cameras, see if there's any sign of Schmidt." He'd have Buzz do it, but it's shaping up to be a long night, and he wants somebody he knows he can rely on at his side.

Everything is going according to protocol until Juliet waves off an officer's helping hand and hops down off the car, jogging over to join them. "What've we got?" she starts to say, only she never finishes, because halfway through her question she spots something particularly surprising and trails off.

He looks up in time to see Guster skid around the corner of the merry-go-round without looking back, and promptly hops onto the same page as his partner. The merry-go-round is east of here while the parking lot is south, and that can only mean one thing.

O'Hara meets Guster partway, only Gus doesn't stop moving, so she's forced to plant herself in front of him. "Gus?" she queries, peering into his eyes. His heartbeat is fast beneath the one hand she has on his wrist.

"I – he told me to run," Gus says at last, turning around to look at the direction he'd just come from. "He said he was _right behind me_!"

"Gus, who's _he_?" Juliet questions insistently, but Gus doesn't seem to hear her, still scanning the horizon. That's telling enough. Lassiter already knows what his answer will be.

"I want eyes on Spencer ten minutes ago!" he roars over his shoulder.

"He – Shawn – I mean, he was – where is he? I've got to go back!" Gus tears out of Juliet's grasp, nimble with the adrenaline racing through his veins. Lassiter blocks him with an arm, but it takes the two of them to drag him back to a safe distance.

"Gus, are you telling me Shawn is out there?" Juliet asks, if Lassiter can bring himself to call it that. Of course Spencer is out there, running around an entirely-too-big amusement park with a known killer on the loose. It wouldn't be a regular Wednesday night at ten (nine central) if Spencer wasn't in danger of some sort.

"We heard the shots go off and were – err, retreating," he emphasizes the word, which Lassiter takes to mean high-tailing it out of there like their pants were on fire, "but then Shawn saw him, and he told me to run, he'd be right behind me – I shouldn't have listened!"

It's a bit long-winded for a confirmation, but Lassiter doesn't tell him to get straight to the point because O'Hara needs to hear it to be sure. They're going to need to question Gus to see if he knows anything that can help them, anyways, so they might as well do it sooner rather than later.

It takes Juliet two minutes to talk him out of heading right back out there. He'd never make it past the command post, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. He only relents when she plants him in a chair in earshot of all the action with a promise to keep him updated.

Lassiter would tack on an additional order to keep silent and stay out of things, but Guster isn't the one he worries about in situations like this, and the thought of who would worries him more.

-

Shawn _is_ right behind Gus for the first little bit, if only because Gus superglues himself to Shawn's hip when they first hear the shot. His ego is saying 'save the day' but his adrenal glands are saying 'fetal position', so they're running before he can think through his reaction, as per the status quo.

This is escape maneuver 2a), which involves a particularly uncoordinated sprint (as dictated by the presence of guns), but no screaming (as said guns are not pointed in their direction), and allows them to salvage their pride in the end, should they wish to do so.

Then he looks to his right and spots Schmidt making his way through the wooden support beams of one of the roller coasters. No more than five feet off, he sees a little boy hiding under the counter of the smoothie stand. Oh, hell.

Shawn digs in his heels and holds onto Gus' arm until the man stops. They duck down behind a bench. "He's over there," Shawn hisses, peering around the curved metal of the armrest.

"Where's there?"

"Here's there," Shawn says sarcastically. Gus smacks him in the arm. "There's there!" he says, jerking his head in the general direction.

"It was a valid question, Shawn!"

"Absolutely, Gus. I should definitely point at the _guy with the gun_ , that's a great idea." They drop the topic and fall silent, because now Gus sees the guy too, and they don't want to pull out escape maneuver 4c) unless they absolutely have to, because their dignity is a lost cause at the end of that one.

"Alright, you run, I'll be right behind you," Shawn says without taking his eyes off of Schmidt.

"I'm not leaving you." Gus' newfound protective instincts are very sweet and all –  it's really quite adorable when he goes all papa bear – but it's not the time or place for that. Any second now, Schmidt is going to find that kid unless Shawn distracts him. Gus isn't going to let him go out there, so Gus needs to get out of here and go find Lassiter and Juliet, who won't let anything happen to his best friend in a million years.

"Look," Shawn begins, miming ripping them apart and making little suction-cup noises to set the appropriate tone, "Now I'm Shawn and you're Gus, and we can retire the very fun shared body of Shawn-and-Gus to fight another day. I'm just going to make sure he doesn't see you running, okay? I'll be right behind you."

Gus pierces him with a look and Shawn tries to adopt the appropriately cowed expression. Gus hesitates for a moment before wrapping an arm around him and squeezing his neck. "You better be," he mumbles before racing off.

Shawn watches him go for a minute, wondering just how he's going to make up for that lie, and then the kid knocks over a crate, Schmidt whips around, and there is no time left for thinking at all.

He hits the ground at a starting pace of 'being chased by wolverines', his heart pounding in his chest like it's laying down a bass line. "JOHN JACOB JINGLEHEIMER SCHMIDT, HIS NAME IS MY NAME TOOOO," he sings as loudly as he can. It's only the eighth time he's referenced the song this case, but he justifies its use here by reasoning it'll be fresh to the only two within earshot.

Schmidt takes off after him with a yell, appropriately distracted, but the only glance back that Shawn risks reveals that the kid is frozen to the spot, refusing to take advantage of the opportunity and run as Shawn had so hoped he would.

This entire _plan_ is not working like he had so hoped it would.

"Oh, come on!" he whines. "I donated to the SPCA this week and everything. Doesn't that get me any karma?"

Just then, Schmidt trips.

Shawn grins, skidding to a stop. "Thank you!" He shrugs off his sweater, dropping it on the ground to leave a false trail for Killer back there. Doubling-back now to get the kid would be too risky, but the pizza stall in this food-court corridor looks like a nice place to hide. He hops the counter and sits down beneath it on the other side, hidden from view.

He lets his head fall back, hitting the cupboards with a small _thunk_ as he tries to catch his breath. The oh-so-tantalizing smell of grease and cheese permeates the air here – was that a Hawaiian pizza he'd seen rotating in the little glass case up top? – but sadly enough, this is no time for food. Probably.

Well, it wouldn't hurt if he snagged just one slice, would it?

He slowly raises his head above the counter, keeping the glass dome resting over the pizzas between him and the park beyond. An obstructed view is better than a bullet to the brain any day of the week.

He doesn't dare blink until Schmidt is out of sight, and it takes him a minute further to exhale as well. In the meantime, his gaze drifts down to the pizza. Kids like pizza, right?

-

Lassiter is half-expecting Luntz to show up again, but Juliet had rolled her eyes at the suggestion and explained that the Commander transferred out of Santa Barbara ages ago. Has it really been two years since Guster was held hostage in a bank?

The new guy introduces himself as Commander Palmer and doesn't try to argue for jurisdiction when Lassiter argues first-thing that this is not a negotiation situation (which gives him a few points in Lassiter's book), so he is in charge; this is Yang, not Stubbins.

He realizes too late that it's a comparison he shouldn't have made, even in his head. Yang might be locked up but Yin is still at large, the lingering memory of Juliet's kidnapping weighing heavily on the lot of them still. They cut it too close to the wire there, and he'll be damned if he lets that happen again here.

He turns around to show Palmer the blueprints when Buzz pops up at his side. "Detective, I've got some bad news." Juliet's brow furrows at the implications, but she waves the two of them off to discuss Buzz's news, taking Lassiter's place in developing a plan of attack with Palmer.

"What is it, McNab?"

"Some of the security cameras in the east aren't working."

Lassiter frowns. "Schmidt doesn't have the technical experience to disable them remotely and wouldn't have had the time," he reasons out loud.

"Some of the cameras in that area are broken," the park's director murmurs, pinking slightly. He hadn't noticed she was there until she'd spoken up.

"Great, so we have a blind spot."

"Do you know what's wrong with them?" Miller asks suddenly. "Perimeter's clear, sir, but we have a missing kid in the park named Danny," he offers to Lassiter by way of greeting.

Lassiter fingers his radio, "All units, be advised, we have a young boy by the name of Danny unaccounted for. Two possible hostages, whereabouts unknown. Stay sharp," he orders before tuning back into the conversation. In the distance, he can hear the teams changing their amplified voices to call out to the young boy in addition to Spencer and Schmidt.

"They've been acting up since we installed a wireless router in the coffee shop last week. We haven't had a chance to fix it yet," the director responds to Miller, whose sudden grin reminds Lassiter of a bear preparing to attack.

"Can you fix it?" he asks pre-emptively.

"I think so, sir." Hmm. He knew he liked Miller for a reason.

"Then do it. McNab, go with him, keep monitoring the security feeds for any sight of our perp."

-

"Hey," Shawn says very, very quietly. The kid jumps, and Shawn presses a frantic finger to his lips. "Shhh!" he whispers. "You've seen _Up_ , right?"

"Yeah," the boy replies, scrunching up his face with confusion. "Why? Who are you? Why do you have pizza?"

"I'm a psychic," Shawn whispers conspiratorially. "Pizza feeds the spirits. Want a slice?" he proffers the second of his two slices, complete with napkin.

"My Dad told me not to take food from strangers," he returns resolutely, though his face is dejected, like he'd much rather be answering in the alternative.

"Oh, one of _those_ ," Shawn says knowingly. "My Dad used to x-ray all my Halloween candy before he'd let me eat it. Can you believe that?"

"That sucks," the boy agrees. "What does that have to do with Up?"

"Absolutely nothing," Shawn admits. "So, you remember Dug, right? He got stuck with that Cone of Shame for a bit. This is sort of like that, except not really, because we're in a Cone of Silence – key difference there, keep up – and we have to stay absolutely quiet, except for this whole conversation. Also, what's your name? I'm sort of tired of referring to you by generic epithets."

Rambling is a specialty of his, so he keeps going until the kid's shoulders relax and he looks a little less hunched over. Their current situation would normally demand he ramp his antics up a notch, but he holds the urge to take his usual random-association rambling a step further.

"Danny."

It's not too often – to be specific, _never_ – that Shawn is forced into the role of responsible adult, but scared little kids merit it. What Danny needs is calm right now, so Shawn sticks a cork in his bubbling energy for later and slows things down.

"Great, Danny. I'm Shawn." Fake names aren't nearly as fun without Gus there to get all indignant over his, so he'll let it pass this time. "I'm gonna get you out of here," he says, eyes bright.

-

"Team one, clear."

"Team two, clear."

Juliet scratches out the appropriate sections on the map as the first two search teams report in, narrowing their search area to exclude the roller coaster called Acrophobia and the Ferris wheel. The longer they go without a visual on Shawn, the more likely it is he's gotten himself into some kind of danger.

Recently, he's been throwing himself into danger headfirst without telling anyone. Since Yin returned to wreak havoc on the lot of them, he's been cooperating with them less and less, keeping them out of danger in his uniquely over-the-top way. It's laid the groundwork for the recent tension, but she knows she and Lassiter haven't helped it any. It's hard to be patient with Shawn's antics in light of the serious nature of the cases they're investigating.

They were a team once, the four of them. They still are – just the other day, Carlton admitted he was fond of Guster, which is equivalent to a heartfelt declaration of love from anybody else. But they're all settling into their new roles post-Yin. Between a few uncomfortable realizations had in the heat of the moment about how much this group of people means to its individual members and Henry's complication of the power dynamics at the station, they've all been jostling each other trying to figure out where they stand.

She knows Carlton's still trying to reconcile his disdain for Shawn and Gus' methods with their results, taking into account that he's grown to care for the two friends as they have for him in turn. It's not an easy step for him, so Juliet hopes that Shawn doesn't take his jabs seriously; the recent competitions have kept him on familiar ground, where he knows what he stands for.

"O'Hara?" She turns around at the call of her name to see Lassiter watching her closely. She shakes it off.

"Yeah, what's up?"

He holds her gaze a moment longer, wondering whether or not to press the topic they're mutually avoiding further. It's so much easier when the roles are reversed, because Juliet seems to have an innate knack for knowing when to push and when to let it drop. He's never sure what to _do_.

"I'm going out with team five," he says at last, deciding against it for the moment. They'll be time later, when Spencer is making movie references he doesn't get and Guster is done reaming Spencer out and Juliet loses that tight look around her eyes. They'll talk when Shawn is safe amongst them once more.

"That's the team clearing the food court?" she questions, glancing back over the plans. "Any particular reason?"

"The cameras are out there, so it would explain why we haven't got a visual. It's closest to the highway. And…"

Juliet tries to hide her grin, but fails miserably. "And? You can say it. I'm not going to tell him."

Lassiter averts his eyes. "I've just got a feeling," he mumbles, as if he doesn't like the way the words roll off his tongue. "Not a psychic feeling, mind you!" he protests, but she is already beaming like he's done something she's especially proud of.

She claps a hand on his shoulder. "I'm worried about him too," she offers, before turning back to the plans.

"Team three, clear!"

-

"Go!" Shawn whispers, pushing Danny gently out of the alcove to give him a kick-start while he keeps scanning the landscape. He would go first to prove the path is safe, but he has a wider view from this location. Danny keeps low like Shawn had instructed him to, sprinting for the relative safety of the roller coaster supports.

Shawn tosses the pizza napkin in the nearby garbage – convenient, that is – and moves to follow him when a stream of low, angry cursing reaches his ears. He freezes on the spot, catching sight of movement out of the corner of his eyes. Danny hears it too, he can tell, as the boy turns back to Shawn with a panicked look on his face.

Alright, change in plans. If he comes much closer, Schmidt is going to discover one of them. It's dark enough out, but the streetlights posted along the sidewalk provide enough light to make staying where they are too risky.

" _Go_ ," he mouths at Danny, shooing him away with a hand. "Be free," he follows it up with, mock-mournfully. He crab-walks under the lift-up portion of the counter used by the staff, slipping into the back room.

There's a back door (there's always a back door) that he slips through carefully, ever-so-gently easing it to a close. Contrary to popular (read: Henry's) belief, Shawn has been trying to ease up on the recklessness. It's easy enough to play fast and loose with police protocol – what protocol? He's a consultant – when it's his life, but if Yin proved anything to him, there are others he cares about, others he won't risk.

He loves his life here, working with Gus and Lassie and Jules, doing the things he loves without wasting what Henry has always referred to as his talents (never skills, despite all those years Shawn spent training them and honing them into something precise.)

The door shuts without so much as a peep but then Shawn trips over a box on the way out, and he figures karma has come back to bite him.

The angered yell from somewhere in the front of the pizza shop _might_ be related to something else entirely, but he isn't willing to take that chance, so he takes off running. If nothing else, pretending to be psychic keeps him in shape.

-

"Cameras are back online, sir!" Miller's voice carries far out into the command post and Lassiter perks up. "We've got a visual!" That brings them running – not just Lassiter, but a small crowd of people.

They spot the distinctive stripes of one of Shawn's polo shirts first, hiding out beneath the counter of the smoothie shop, and a collective sigh of relief goes up. Lassiter sags backwards, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders. If he can be honest enough to admit he's fond of Guster, it isn't too much of a stretch to admit he genuinely likes Spencer as well. He is an absolute pain in the neck for six out of seven days of the week, but he almost makes up for it on the seventh, bringing a strong loyalty to the table that Lassiter hasn't been able to shake yet, for all his animosity.

"Lassiter," Juliet says suddenly, touching his shoulder to grab his attention as she turns away from the crowd. He glances over in time to see a little boy of no more than eight running towards them.

"There's our missing kid," he mutters, utterly disbelieving that they've gotten this lucky.

Juliet is grinning outright. "Five bucks says that's Shawn."

Buzz leans in helpfully. "That's a sucker bet."

Lassiter eyes him, torn between amusement and annoyance. "I liked you better when you were quieter." He didn't, of course; he likes Buzz's optimism because it's refreshing, but one reluctant admission of caring is enough for the day.

"Lassiter!" Palmer calls, and his tone is enough to ruin the moment. Buzz runs out to pull little Danny to safety looking the part of the Friendly Giant all the while, and Lassiter and Juliet reclaim their spots in front of the grainy footage.

Lassiter's face hardens. "Where are they now?"

"Behind the food court are the water slides, sir," one of the officers around him pipes up.

"Anything else?"

"There's a swinging ship."

The cameras are back up in that area (he'll have to remember to get O'Hara to thank Miller later), so they'll be able to see where Spencer's choosing to run by the time they get down there, but he wants to know _now._

"Guster!"

Gus slides into existence at his side startlingly quickly. He didn't know Guster was that smooth -- like a jackal, almost. He's been remarkably quiet throughout this whole experience, but Lassiter had been counting on the other man's silence to keep his focus. Gus is more than Shawn's proxy, he's his own person, and he trusts the SBPD to do their jobs.

"Where's he heading?" Lassiter says quietly, jerking his head at the screen. Juliet might not have had time to keep him updated, but Guster is intelligent enough to infer everything on his own.

"Water slide, definitely. Shawn'd go up before anything," Gus replies easily, confident in his knowledge of his friend.

"Alright, gear up, team. Water slide it is," he directs, breaking free from the crowd still gathered around the monitors to join the last search team. "You, with me," he points at the one officer who'd answered his earlier questions; she knows the layout well, and that could prove to be useful.

"O'Hara, you coming?" he calls over his shoulder, and Juliet hustles to catch up with him, Palmer bringing up the rear.

-

By the time Shawn careens around the side of the balloon stall, he is out of breath. A quick glance back reveals Schmidt is still working his way through the mess of boxes Shawn had left in his wake, so he has a few seconds to rest.

Any time now, Jules and Lassie.

Just as he's pulling back to put more distance between them, something catches his eye. Oh, that's perfect. He snips the balloon's string with the scissors they keep behind the counter (the drawer had been slightly ajar, he'd glimpsed the pair when he'd leaned back to check Schmidt's position) and loops it around the first three fingers of his right hand.

Here lies a fork in the road. He can choose to run to either the pirate ship up ahead or the water slides off to his right. Well, he reasons, he's forgotten his eye patch anyways, so it wouldn't be appropriate to hide out on the swinging ship. Since staying on the ground hasn't worked well for him so far, getting up, up, and away sounds like a good idea indeed.

It makes the balloon faintly appropriate as well. The earlier _Up_ analogy had been just to keep Danny calm, but it's oddly fitting now. He grins.

His heart starts racing again and he doesn't know why up until he looks up and realizes that he's rested too long. They aren't on film-time, where the last minute before a bomb goes off takes twenty minutes to cover but driving all over the city takes no time at all. Reality (whose hand looks remarkably like his father's) smacks him upside the head for losing track of time.

The distinctive crunch of a deliberate footstep on gravel precedes the shadow that steps into the small oval of illumination the streetlight provides. Shawn's gaze travels from the beaten-up sneaker up the polyester-clad pant leg and denim jacket until he reaches the snarling face of Schmidtty.

"Whenever we go out," he begins without hesitation, "the people always shout." He keeps talking because, like the running, acting without stopping to think things through is how he operates. He's a firm believer in the belief that if you can't outsmart your opponent, blinding them with stupidity is the next best option.

"There goes John, Jacob, Jingleheimer," and he pauses to grin, " _Schmidt_." With that, he takes off for the stairs to the water slide with a frenetic whoop, the pineapple balloon trailing behind him.

"You can run but you can't hide, psychic!" Schmidt roars from behind him. Shawn is incredibly, incredibly glad that Gus isn't here, because if he's harbouring this much anger over Shawn's psychic visions, then the physical _evidence_ Gus had produced might just put him over the top.

"Would a little originality be too much to ask for?" Shawn calls back, not even pausing at the small landing that separates two sets of staircases. "Old threat is old."

"POLICE!" he hears off in the distance from a number of voices. He can't make out anyone individually, but he can imagine a few of the faces; Jules and Lassie and Buzz, coming to rescue him. Well, that's not right, is it? Shawn likes to do all his rescuing himself whenever possible.

"Schmidt, we've got you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"

The second landing is the last, and Shawn takes the next set of stairs two at a time until he hits the top. Alright, he hadn't expected that. He could go down the slide, of course, but Schmidtty back there has a gun and the brightly-coloured tubes of the three water slides branching off from this platform aren't wide enough to accommodate dodging. He whirls on his heel to find Schmidt advancing. "Now, let's think things through," he says slowly. "The cops are already on their way up. It isn't going to go well for you if you shoot me now."

"They already have me on a double homicide. What's one more?" Come to think of it, that's a very good question. One more is the difference between Juliet's delight and her despair, Gus' solace and his sorrow, Lassiter's respect and his remorse.

"Good question," he says to catch Schmidt off-guard, just before he makes a grab for the gun. Shawn wedges the index finger of his left hand behind the trigger to jam it and grips the handle with his other hand, but this positioning doesn't leave him any hands free to fend off blows. He tries to roll with the punches as best he can as Schmidt throws the two of them around the small landing without releasing his grip on the barrel, but whoever came up with that saying is an _idiot_ , because punches hurt, and the only rolling he'd like to do involves curling up into a ball and staying there until the paint recedes.

"ANY TIME NOW, GUYS," he yells out, shortly before Schmidt sweeps his feet out from under him and they go down in a tangle of limbs, Shawn's attempt to turn the fall into a graceful duck-and-roll thwarted by their shared grip on the weapon.

The pineapple balloon trailing helplessly behind him gets underfoot and collapses under his weight with a _pop_ as he lands on it. The blow-back of the surface tension dissipating along his skin stings like a _son of a lovely_ , and he loses his concentration for a split second too long. He doesn't realize how close to the edge they are until it's too late and one of his feet is dangling precariously over the edge.

Schmidt's grin is rather feral. Shawn wonders whether or not he's had his rabies shots. Oh well. There are more important things at risk, although just to be safe, Shawn will be sure to ask Gus what the symptoms are and whether or not he carries the antidote in his magical grab-bag of pharmaceutical supplies. Maybe he should get vaccinated, just in case. It's not like it'd take more than one needle or anything, right?

With a curse of regret – Schmidt might have been sloppy enough to get caught, but he actually plans before he acts – Shawn seizes the only option he has left for his continued survival and takes his right hand off the weapon to grip the railing. Schmidt yanks the gun out of his other hand and kicks his lower body over the edge, leaving Shawn to scrabble for a more secure grip with his left hand as he hangs precariously over the edge of a drop straight down.

At least he isn't afraid of heights, though that might change after today's events.

Idly, he notes that the wet substance matting the hair to his head on his left temple isn't water from the splashing around they did on the platform as he'd originally thought, but blood instead. S'okay, he's got a head hard – a hard hat – a _hard head_ and – whoa, why's the world gone all slidey like that?

Henry is going to absolutely _murder_ him, and then he's going to get away with it because the SBPD won't hire Gus to work the case and his best friend's the only one that would ever suspect the ex-cop in the first place.

"Sweet justice, Spencer," Lassiter calls from somewhere to his north – left – _up_ – never mind, he's just somewhere over there. That's specific enough.

Shawn frowns, because the least good ol'Lassie could have the courtesy to do when death-by-splat lies beneath him is to leave his world view alone. He'd thought Lassiter had retired that particular saying ages ago; it has been three months and a day since Shawn last heard him say it. They were at the station, where Lassiter was at his desk looking over crime scene photos and Juliet was drawing on the whiteboard. Shawn shoves the memory aside as his head swims, trying to separate the past from the present. He must have been hit harder than he'd though – through – _thought_.

"Drop the weapon, Schmidt."

"Don't think I will, thanks."

"You're already going away for a long time. Are Spencer and his divinations worth an additional life sentence?" Lassiter tries again, using a different tactic.

Shawn frowns. "Hey!" Insult the injured, why don’t'cha? He swings one leg up onto the platform, bracing himself as he tries to pull himself up. He doesn't make much in the way of progress, his chest tight with the effort of exerting himself, but he gets far enough up to glare at Lassiter.

What he sees is not what he expects, though. Lassiter makes eye contact with him, his expression faintly disappointed, which only confuses Shawn further. It's almost like he's missing something, but he can't think of what.

Whatever it is has to be in Lassiter's earlier comment. The casual disregard for Shawn's life is out of character for the detective, whose sniping comments tend to trail off when the threat to Shawn is real and his words might be taken seriously. The only thing off-kilter is the terminology he used – Lassiter doesn't refer to the various ways Shawn claims his psychic abilities manifest themselves by name, and certainly not without a healthy dose of disdain imbued in his tone.

So divinations, that's the key.

Something nags at him, faint impressions of a memory that escapes him looming just out of range. Of course Lassiter would call on his memory _after_ he takes the knock to the head.

 _You're a sick twist_ , he can hear Lassiter's voice ringing in his ears, and his heart speeds up as panic washes over him like a cold shower, fresh as the night Drimmer stuck a gun in his shoulder-blade and stilled his words, his movements, everything Shawn knows how to do in those situations.

Fitting. He'd been knocked around a little that night as well.

The jog to his memory is enough, because now he knows what he has to do. He had an understanding with Lassiter that night, and the bond of trust woven out of shared danger hasn't been buried by their recent division.

"Schmidtty!" he calls out, watching as the man's eyes flick over to him, his aim never faltering. Shawn takes a deep breath, uncorking the energy that had built up when he'd been calming Danny down. He doesn't have to stall for long, it doesn't even matter what he _says_ , as long as he's completely and utterly distracting.

Lassiter's trusting him – trusting his _abilities_ – and Shawn thinks that maybe another hostage situation is just what they need to bring the team together again, remind them that they are stronger together than they could ever be apart.

"You know, I'm a dead man hanging over here, I accept that. But before you take the shot, I have a few last words. First, I'd like to say thanks to Gus. I couldn't have had a better friend. To Jules, who--."

"Shut up!"

"That's very rude, you know," Shawn scolds. Schmidt scoffs, incredulous. The slight laugh-hitch in his breathing throws off his concentration and his aim for just a split second, but it's enough. Shawn blinks against the flash-flare of muzzle-fire from Lassiter's gun, eyes watering instinctually at the bright light. When he opens his eyes again, Schmidt has dropped like a stone and SWAT are moving in to restrain him. A clean shot to the shoulder, through-and-through.

Lassiter is crouched on the proper side of the railing, McNab at his side. Buzz grabs a leg and starts hauling while Lassiter does the same with his torso. Together, they manage to get him back onto the platform.

"Spencer, you can let go now."

Oh, okay. He can let go. That's nice. Shawn thinks he'll hang on just a little while longer though, just to be sure.

See the thing is, half of him is still convinced that the only thing in between him and sure death is his grip on the railing, so working himself up to letting go is kind of a big deal. If Lassiter could just wait a minute, that'd be great.

"Shawn?"

He knows it's Buzz before he _knows_ it's Buzz, because Lassie only uses his first name when things are really, really serious, like when they're facing off against Drimmer and Shawn has been shot and Jules has been kidnapped. This isn't serious, this is casual. This is three guys hanging out on – haha, hanging on! – the top of a water slide.

"Shawn, I need you to look at me," Lassiter says. Shawn frowns, because that goes against everything he was just saying – seeing – thinking.

He works one hand free to wave it in front of his face like it's a particularly interesting piece of evidence. It's shaking. Shawn really wishes he had eaten the rest of that pizza earlier.

Buzz pries the other one loose, and Lassiter produces a flashlight out of nowhere to shine a light in Shawn's pupils. Shawn waves him off with a muffled, "m'fine."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Buzz asks, and his face is so utterly earnest that Shawn can't bring himself to mess with his friend.

"Three," he replies honestly, and that causes a stir, because apparently Buzz was really holding up two and that's not a good sign at all, and then there's a lot of other concerned mutterings that he ignores, raising his upper body up into a sitting position.

"Huh," he says, regarding his swollen right ankle with a touch of surprise. He has no memory whatsoever of injuring it, but he supposes it must have happened in the fight. Okay. So maybe walking back down the stairs is out of the running.

"Stay down," Lassiter says, and it's not fair to say because all Shawn really wants to do is go down. The sooner he gets up the sooner that can happen. Shawn's had his fill of heights for a long, long time, and all he really wants now is food and Gus and painkillers. And sleep. And for his hand to stop shaking, that'd be awesome, too.

He turns to look at the three water slides, all of which begin at this platform and end in a shallow splash pool at the end of a nice, gentle series of curves. Then he looks back to the stairs. Bad stairs, very bad stairs.

Okay, so maybe he's a little-bitty bit concussed.

"Lassie! What d'you say we get wet?"

-

"They're coming down!" Juliet announces, and she can't quite keep the anticipation out of her voice. She'd chosen to stay behind and cover the bottom of the slide while Lassiter had gone up. It hadn't been an easy decision to let him go on ahead, but they'd wanted to ensure there was somebody Shawn knew and trusted on both ends.

Shawn will be coming down the middle slide at Lassiter's insistence because it's the only one not enclosed. He'd sounded out of things on the radio, but the medic's already cleared him for the slide.

Buzz is unceremoniously dumped from the slide furthest-left with a large splash, sent on ahead for a test-run. She can't help but smile when his head breaks the surface and he turns to give her a thumbs-up. Only Shawn would devise this plan.

"Buzz is fine, you guys are good to go," she radios up to the top.

Lassiter comes in second, emerging from the slide furthest-right gracefully, still wearing his shirt, (and tie, oh Carlton) though he's lost the jacket.

"I see Shawn!" Gus cries then, stepping up beside her.

"Where?" she frowns.

"There!" For some reason, this exchange makes Gus laugh hysterically. She pats his shoulder fondly – it's been a long night for him too, and he could use the rest. They all could. Then she sees him, too, and his excitement carries over.

Shawn's slide is the slowest, and his head never even goes under when it drops him into the pool gently. Lassiter and Buzz are there before his limbs move to start treading water, and they tow him over to the side, where Juliet hauls him out by his armpits.

It's a little-bitty bit embarrassing, but there are still two of Jules waving in and out of existence before his eyes so maybe it's not completely uncalled for. Lassiter and Buzz climb out with more finesse, and McNab trots off with Miller to find towels while Lassiter joins the Jules-Gus-Shawn huddle they've got going on.

Lassiter is absolutely dripping all over Juliet's legs and Juliet is saying reassuring things like, "That was a very smooth finish, Shawn" (it wasn't, but he appreciates the thought) and Shawn _just finished a hostage situation via water slide._

It's a whole lot of awesome, too.

-

She hears him before she sees him, bickering with Gus about whether or not he has a future in Olympic diving. He greets her with a warm smile and a gift of cotton candy (present from the amusement park, he says), then asks, "Where's Lassie?"

"Evidence room," she tells him, and he wanders off to find her partner. Gus just shakes his head and dumps two large bags of take-out on the corner of her desk, the only empty space. "We brought lunch," he offers by way of explanation.

"Excellent," she grins back, making quick work of sticking the scattered pages back into their appropriate folders and leaving them in a drawer to clear space. It's been ages since they've done this, a tradition started at the end of her first year working with Lassiter.

"Spencer, where are your crutches?" she hears growled from across the room. She turns to see Carlton stalking towards Shawn determinedly, but Shawn waves off the question and hobbles back over to Juliet's desk with the object of his search in tow.

"Sit down, stay awhile!" he says, tossing Lassiter one of the burgers and pulling out an order of fries for himself.

"I mean it," Lassiter grumbles. "Your ankle isn't going to heal properly if you refuse to listen to doctor's instructions." He unwraps the silver foil and takes a bite, looking up at Juliet, who has that look again. "What?" It's not like he's concerned for Spencer's well-being or anything. He just believes strongly in the wisdom of medical professionals.

She looks happier though, the lines around her eyes a little softer and her laughter flowing more freely, so he figures he must be doing something right. Or maybe Shawn is, or Gus.

There's something peaceful about sitting down to lunch with the three of them. Juliet might be too nice to admit it, but at least Guster agrees that Spencer looked completely ridiculous coming down that slide.

Spencer offers him a fry and he grabs a handful.

More than peaceful, it's a chance to unwind, he admits to himself.

It's kind of nice, actually. Sitting down to lunch with… friends.


End file.
